The Comings and goings, Goings and comings
On the beaten tracks,
Facing ebbs and flows of intangible force.
The stasis and flits of dull and dreary world,
Running the race hustling and jostling
From this pole to that post
To run over or be run over.
Dropping the catch and catching the drops,
Believing our doubts and doubting our beliefs,
Thus are we placed on a mirage
Betwixt oxymorons and paradoxes
Knowing nothing permanent except death
Yet are we destined and desired to live
Like toys of wanton boy
With willing suspension of disbelief